


36 Views of Mt. Fuji: Fall

by Mithen



Series: 36 Views of Mt. Fuji [4]
Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Dreamscapes, First Time, Japanese Culture, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Romance, Self-Sacrifice, Suicidal Imagery, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-03-16 17:21:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13640916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithen/pseuds/Mithen
Summary: Bruce and Clark meet again in Japan and enjoy their reunion, but events are set in motion that will nearly destroy them.





	1. Chapter 1

_On Komochi Mountain_  
 _From the time the young leaves sprout_  
 _Until they turn red_  
 _I think I would like to sleep with you_  
 _What do you think of that?_  
 _\--Anonymous_  
  
The call came in as Superman, Flash, and the Martian Manhunter were running some diagnostics on the Watchtower teleportation system.  It still wasn't fully reliable--Barry Allen had been forced to hitch a ride with Green Lantern to come up and take a look at it.  "Maybe if we--" Barry was saying when Superman's communicator beeped.  
  
"Excuse me," he said politely and stepped to the far side of the room.  
  
Dick Grayson's voice on the other end, words tumbling over each other. "Superman?  Clark?  You have to get to Japan, Batman's there, at Yoru- _sensei_ 's dojo, you need to get there right away!"    
  
Superman was halfway to the door before he cut off the transmission.  "Batman's in trouble," he said tersely to the two men still working on the teleporters, "Are you sure they're not up and running yet?"  
  
J'onn shrugged, a fluid alien gesture.  "I don't trust them."  
  
"All right then, I'm going.  I'll be in touch when I know what's going on."  He was at the airlock doors and in space before they could respond.  
  
Superman plunged toward Japan like a falling star, the heat of re-entry blurring his vision and roaring through his hair.  He and Bruce had hardly spoken more than a few sentences since their last parting four months ago;  the idea that something could happen to the other man with them on less-than-perfect terms was...intolerable.  Not that they had argued, Clark thought as the wind screamed through his cloak, the islands rushing up to meet him through the clouds.  But Bruce had shrugged him off, told him to go get some more  _experience_  before coming to his bed.  
  
Visions of Bruce hurt, bleeding, alone flashed through Clark's mind;  he tumbled through a cloud and found himself in front of Yoru- _sensei_ 's dojo.  The sliding external doors to the room he had shared months ago with Bruce were open, and he was in.  
  
Bruce was there.

* * *

  
Bruce Wayne looked up from his book to find a disheveled, wild-eyed Kryptonian in his room.  "Bruce," Clark said breathlessly, "Thank God you're all right, what's wrong?   _Are_ you all right?  What's the situation, what are we facing?"  He stared around the room as if expecting an army of ninjas to appear.  
  
Bruce dropped the book and jumped to his feet, alarmed despite himself at Superman's urgency.  "What are you talking about?"  Even through his alarm he felt a moment's discomfort at Clark finding him in his light cotton yukata, but he pushed it away.  
  
Turquoise eyes fixed on his like a drowning man catching at a line, and somehow he found himself standing next to Clark, reaching out to take his hands.  "Clark, are you all--ow!"  He snatched his hands back from skin as hot as an oven.  "You're  _hot_ ," he said stupidly.  
  
Superman looked a bit shamefaced.  "Heat of re-entry, sorry."  
  
"Re-entry?"  
  
Clark looked momentarily annoyed.  "Not that I'm not very happy to see you safe, but Richard said you were in trouble!"  
  
"Dick said--"  Bruce broke off and snorted as realization dawned on Clark's face as well.  "Dick," Bruce said again, shaking his head and moving to sit back down.  "You'd better contact the Watchtower and tell them it's a false alarm."  
  
Superman touched his ear lightly.  "J'onn?  There's no problem here, false alarm.  I'll--"  He glanced over at Bruce for just an instant,  "--I'm on my way back."  He paused as if listening, then a frown crossed his face.  "What?  You what?"  
  
To Bruce's surprise, J'onn's response rang in his head as well--telepathy, he'd never get used to it.  //I said, I have taken the opportunity to hack into Northwest's systems and give Clark Kent a paper trail leading to and from Japan.  You might as well stay there for the next few days.  Take a vacation, Kal.  Don't think we haven't noticed you're working yourself nearly to death.//  J'onn's mental voice was warm, and Bruce saw Clark flush slightly and shoot him another quick glance.  
  
"I can't take time off from Metropolis, I'm needed--"  
  
J'onn cut him off.  //I shall cover Metropolis for the next few days.  I am a shapeshifter, no one will know Superman is not on the job.//  As Superman hesitated, J'onn's "voice" sharpened.  //Kal.  Take a break.  Relax.  Spend some time with Bruce and  _stop giving me headaches._ // Then the voice was gone, leaving them alone in a room together for the first time in months.  
  
Superman looked a bit hesitant until Bruce gestured for him to take a seat on the tatami.  "Has Richard figured out...?" he asked, waving his hands vaguely as he settled onto the straw matting cross-legged.  Just a touch too close to make Bruce happy.    
  
And not close enough to make him joyful.  
  
He shrugged, watching the shining cape spread across the tatami.  "He seems to have caught on to something, yes.  He seems...unhappy about our break-up."  
  
Superman folded a bit of red cape between his fingers, watching it intently.  "It wasn't a 'break-up.'  You told me to get more experience."  Clark lifted his head suddenly, the look in his eyes both shy and challenging.  "And I've gotten all the experience I need to know it's you I want," he said.  
  
The directness almost took Bruce's breath away and he looked away from those cobalt eyes, taking a steadying breath.  It had been four months, and Bruce had been painfully aware that Clark had been getting experience.  The reporter had dated at least seven different people in those four months--mostly men, a couple of women--and Bruce had researched each of them thoroughly, hating himself for trying to guess which one had done what with Clark, which one would be the one to win his heart.    
  
He supposed he could have bugged Clark's apartment, but even he wasn't quite that masochistic.  
  
His thoughts were broken off by Clark's breath at his ear, a tongue touching his earlobe delicately before he could respond.  "Can I show you how much I've learned, Bruce?"  
  
It had been four months, four long months of imagining that mouth under his and that body--he had Clark flat on his back on the tatami before either of them had a chance to think better of it, kissing him, his hands in midnight-dark hair.  Clark's hands tugged at his sash with clumsy urgency and Bruce felt his robe fall open;  the feel of silky Kryptonian cloth along his whole body, steely Kryptonian muscle under it, enflamed him instantly and he startled himself by writhing against the other man and making a frantic noise he had most certainly not intended to.  
  
" _Bruce,"_  Clark breathed, wrapping arms around him and pulling him close, and Bruce should have felt stifled and constricted in that inhumanly unbreakable clinch.    
  
He shouldn't have felt... _safe._    
  
Clark's lips were at his ear again, his voice low and husky.  "I know exactly what I want from you now, Bruce.  I know how much I want you inside me, how good it can feel, I want  _you_  now."  
  
Bruce bent his head to Clark's throat, still glowingly warm from the atmosphere, ignoring the pang that went through him at the idea of Clark learning so much without him.   _It isn't like you saved your virginity for him, playboy,_  he thought fiercely, his lips on the smooth pale column, Clark's head thrown back in surrender.  
  
"Oh God," groaned Clark, thrusting against Bruce, still fully-clothed, "I can--I know I can make it good for you, Bruce."  
  
It couldn't be anything less than good if it was  _Clark_ , but Bruce didn't say that, didn't really want to think it.  He slid his hands slowly under the shining symbol, across shining skin, so slowly, and Clark made a choking sound and clasped his hands closer.  "Don't tease me, Bruce," he muttered, and Bruce couldn't help but chuckle.  
  
"That's not  _teasing,_ Clark.  That's  _enjoying."_   Warm skin under his hands, so warm, like a fireplace, radiant and welcoming.  "When I tease you, you'll know it."  
  
He pulled the shirt off over Clark's head, over black hair already disheveled by his fall from the sky, and went to pull off the pants, but Clark twisted under him and slid Bruce onto the floor next to him.  Gently, he lifted the untied yukata from Bruce's body, staring frankly.  "You're beautiful," he said, his hands hovering above Bruce's body.  "I never thought you'd--I never thought I'd ever see you like this.  For me."  Warm hands stroked down his body as if Clark were petting something sleek and exotic, and Bruce felt almost like purring at the sensation.  
  
"You  _have_  gotten good," he murmured as Clark's hands cupped his erection deftly, and to his surprise Clark blushed crimson.  
  
"Have I?  I mean, thank you," the Kryptonian said.  An almost sly smile tipped his mouth, but dissolved into a gasp as Bruce could no longer resist pulling down the red and blue tights and taking his turn at cradling the heat there.  Clark fell back onto the tatami with a thump, his eyes slitting closed and his hands falling to his sides, clenching spasmodically.  "Nnn," he said incoherently.  
  
Bruce drew his thumb down Clark's cock with leisurely enjoyment, relishing the way it strained against his hand, then caressed the other man's balls.  Clark whimpered slightly, tossing his head, and Bruce could do little but stare at the abandoned face and tense body.  His fingers flickered lower and Clark gasped again, opening eyes heavy with lust and excitement to stare at him in turn.  "We're going to do this, right?"  Clark said, his voice almost blurry with desire.  "We're--" he broke off with a groan and moved against Bruce's hand again, "--You're going to--"  
  
"Yes.  Oh, yes," Bruce said.  He wasn't sure if he could stop now for anything, he'd wanted it for so long.  
  
"Good."  Clark bit his lip as Bruce's fingers brushed him again.  "Yes."  
  
Bruce bent to draw his tongue gently across taut, hot skin, mostly to avoid meeting Clark's eyes for a moment.  "Do you have a preference about--"  Gentle, teasing fingers made clear what he was referring to.  "--I can do either, if you don't like to bottom."  
  
Clark made a very small noise.  "I like to bottom," he said in a strained voice.  "I want to.  I want it."  
  
Bruce firmly shelved any thoughts on where Clark had learned he liked that.    
  
He hoped it wasn't that arrogant disc jockey Clark had seen for a couple of weeks.  
  
It didn't matter, he reminded himself as he tasted sunlight and ozone on Clark's skin--Clark was here now and wanted  _him_  now, even with the benefit of experience.  
  
It was more than Bruce had dared hope for.  
  
"I--"  He stopped and cleared his throat, feeling ridiculous.  "Let me get something we can use as lube."  He grabbed some unscented hand lotion from his bag;  it would do.  Clark stared at him, blue eyes huge in the twilight shadows of the room, as he stroked with slick fingers, nudging, slipping in.    
  
Hotter than human;  he had known intellectually that Kryptonians had a slightly higher body temperature than humans, but it was another thing altogether to feel that heat caressing his fingers intimately.  He looked up to catch Clark's eyes, to share this moment that was making his breath come faster than he'd even expected--and found that Clark's eyes were tightly shut, his face closed and taut.  
  
Bruce felt the other man's thighs trembling slightly.  
  
Bruce moved his fingers cautiously and watched Clark grimace just a little.  The other man took a long, deep breath, let it out very slowly...and Bruce could see his expression shift.  "Oh," Clark said thoughtfully and then " _Oh,"_  surprise and the beginnings of pleasure like the dawn on the horizon.  Those amazing eyes opened and Clark met his gaze, smiling.  
  
The smile fell away into chagrin as Clark read Bruce's face.  "I'm sorry," he said.  
  
"You told me you got experience," Bruce said, feeling as vulnerable as if  _he_  were the one currently flat on his back.  
  
"I said I got as much experience as I needed to...to know you were the one I wanted."  Clark made a small noise and shifted slightly, luxuriously against Bruce's hand, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment.  When he opened them again, they were full of plaintive appeal.  "I couldn't do it, Bruce.  I  _tried,_  I  _swear_  I tried.  But every time I kissed someone, all I could think about was how much I wanted you.  I couldn't bear it.  I wanted--"  He arched his back slightly, his eyes focused inward, "--wanted to get good at it for you, so I wouldn't be all awkward and stupid and wanting it too much,  _too much._ "  A panting breath, aching with desire.  "Wanted to be like you, like you, calm and cool and gorgeous, not shaking and stammering and--and--Bruce, it feels so  _good,_  I want more,  _please."_  
  
"Calm."  Bruce was amazed to hear his voice so level, not trembling at all.  He was so good at controlling himself, so good.  "Calm," he repeated as if the word was meaningless, nonsense.  He felt a crazy desire to either laugh or weep, but his hands stayed steady, perfectly steady as they made Clark gasp with growing pleasure.  "You--"  He could think of so many possible ways to end that sentence, but decided to be pragmatic, "--You should keep breathing deeply, it helps."  
  
Clark chuckled and groaned at the same time, pleasure and tension chasing each other across his face.  "Thank you, Professor Wayne.  Are you planning on--uhmm--taking the next step anytime soon?  Because I'm more than ready, if you hadn't noticed."  
  
Poised at the moment before penetration, he looked down at Clark's face, flushed and smiling and tense with delighted anticipation, and he thought,  _In another moment, nothing in the universe will ever be able to change that we had this.  Another moment, and it will be true forever that we were lovers._  
  
The calm of the eye of the hurricane, the calm of ice over a chasm too deep to survive.  
  
He moved forward out of stillness and into heat.  
  
Alien heat, inhuman velvet, unlike anything he had ever known.  A memory of Kryptonian cloth, heavy silken velvet, alien crimson--he shuddered and realized he had pushed further than he had meant to.  Clark tensed and then relaxed into the sensation, and Bruce couldn't seem to stop moving.  He tried to slow down, to let Clark adjust, but the other man made a low noise in his throat and moved against him, and 'leisurely' was no longer an option.  Kryptonian physiology seemed just a bit different;  Bruce shifted, thrust as gently as he could with his pulse yammering wildly at him, lust unraveling his thoughts.  Clark's back arched madly and he stammered something in a jumble of consonants that might have been English or Kryptonian;  another thrust and he moaned something like "GodRaoBruce," his erection hard against Bruce's stomach, and came.  Orgasm sent a hectic crimson flush to his cheeks and coppery sparks danced in his sightless eyes;  the sight was eerie and beautiful at once.  Clark's body tensed around him and Bruce felt infinite velvet, the temperature peaking close to unbearable, hot and demanding and irresistible, and found he had neither the ability nor the inclination to resist the rush of climax at all.  
  
****

* * *

**  
** Clark felt Bruce tug a blanket over both of them and lie down next to him.  He rolled over to loop his legs around the other man's, rest his hands on scarred skin, feeling the heartbeat under his palms.  "I didn't even ask why you were in Japan," he said after a moment.  
  
Bruce made a blurry sound and laced his fingers through Clark's, a lattice of sensation.  "Yoru- _sensei'_ s foster-daughter got married today.  I came for that and to check on Katana, but apparently she's in the mountains right now, training to master Soultaker.  Not a friendly sword."  A pause while Clark slid his fingers back and forth within Bruce's, enjoying the feeling.  "If J'onn's going to cover Metropolis, you could stay here for the weekend."  Bruce sounded almost reluctant, but Clark knew by now it wasn't for the reasons one might assume.  "We can come up with a reason Clark Kent was in the area.  I'll take you sightseeing."  
  
"I'd like that."  Clark couldn't stop smiling.  "Although I've seen the sights I came to see."  
  
A quiet snort.  "I can show you more of those, too.  If you'd like."  
  
"I'd like that."  The tiny square windowpanes cut the moonlight on the wall into little boxes;  Clark watched them for a while before speaking again.  "I'm sorry I tried to deceive you, Bruce.  Don't worry, I'm not going to consider us married or anything."  Bruce muttered something that sounded like "make an honest Kryptonian out of you," and Clark laughed.  "But...I wanted it to be you," he said softly.  
  
A pause so long that Clark thought maybe Bruce had fallen asleep, and then a low voice: "I wanted it to be me too."  He made it sound like a shameful confession, and Clark tightened his fingers very slightly.  
  
Bruce's hand closed warmly around his as well, and somehow it managed to feel almost more intimate than the sex that had gone before, Bruce holding his hand in the moonlit silence.    
  
Clark listened to Bruce's breathing slow, felt the individual muscles of his body, his hands, slowly relax into sleep.  What was the phrase, "friends with benefits"?  He remembered the burn of arousal all along his body, the sweetly piercing pleasure of it, and smiled into the dark.    
  
The benefits were impressive indeed.    
  
A memory of Bruce's elegant face abandoned in desire, the clear-chiseled lines of it tense with yearning, flickered through his mind.  
  
The friend even more so.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce and Clark enjoy one perfect day at Nikko.

_I hear the wind  
in the mountain trees  
and the voices of the leaves  
blown through air   
then let go, falling  
\--Shotetsu  
  
_The woman who had been known until four months ago as Tatsu Yamashiro stood under a waterfall, a drawn katana in her hand.  The icy water pummeled her body, but not as much as the blade in her grip pummeled her soul.  
  
Four months ago she had changed her name to Katana and come here to the mountains to train and learn to master the sword that had taken the lives of her loved ones.  This morning it hummed in her hands, a keening whine that set her teeth on edge.  It chipped at her heart, offering her promises of glory and pleasure if she would only use the sword as it was meant to be used.  
  
Soultaker was not happy to be controlled by one such as her.  
  
Meditations done, she stepped out of the waterfall, feeling exhausted in body and spirit.  The cursed thing fought her at every opportunity, but she  _would_  be its master.  She shook water out of her hair--and caught a flicker of motion in the rippling river.  
  
Her instincts deflected the first shuriken, her skill knocked the next five out of the air.  As she flicked at the next, however, the sword  _twisted_  in her hand and she felt cold metal kiss her cheek, leaving acid in its wake.   
  
Poison.  
  
She felt it slowing her reflexes almost immediately and leaped in the direction the shuriken had come from, landing on a broad maple branch alongside a man dressed in black ninja garb.  Scarlet foliage flew around the two of them as they sparred, the ninja tumbling backwards, biding his time as her motions became sluggish, the damned sword still fighting her every move.  A final blow to the knee and she collapsed out of the tree to the ground, feeling bones break in her leg as she landed, limp as a rag doll.  
  
She shrieked once, an animal cry of rage and fury, as he pulled the katana from her slackening grip.  The lower half of his face was covered, but she could sense his feral grin in the motions of his body as he held Soultaker in front of himself.  After picking up the scabbard from beside her campfire, he paused to bow mockingly to her crumpled body.  < I believe Soultaker will find me a substantially better match than some unworthy girl, > he sneered.  And then he was gone, leaving Tatsu to begin the long crawl back to the dojo, praying that the poison in her veins didn't finish her before she could give warning.  
  


* * *

  
"I hate to mention this, but I think you're hovering just a bit, Clark," Bruce Wayne pointed out.  
  
The man next to him was wearing a heavy jacket, jeans, and hiking boots, which looked particularly incongruous floating a centimeter above the ground.  "Oh!"  There was a slight  _thump_  as Clark Kent's feet connected with the pavement again.  "Sorry.  I'm just in such a good mood today, I can't help it."  Clark beamed and didn't look particularly contrite as the two of them walked through rustling leaves.  
  
Bruce snorted and rolled his eyes, trying to look gloomy. "You can't possibly be as happy as you look, Clark.   _No one_  is that happy."  
  
Clark shoved his hands deeper into his jacket pockets, smiling at the cloudless fall sky.  "If you say so, Bruce.  I bow to the world's leading authority on happiness."  He actually bowed, glancing up from under a tumble of dark hair with a sly grin.  And then he took a hand out of his pocket and took Bruce's hand, the fingers warm and gentle on cold skin.  
  
"Clark," Bruce hissed, "We'll attract a  _lot_  of attention if we walk down the street holding hands."   
  
The other man swung their hands between them like they were small children walking together.  "We're already huge honking gaijin, Bruce.  Let 'em stare."  He met Bruce's glare squarely.  "I just don't feel like letting go of you today," he said.  
  
Bruce found he had little to say under the dazzling bright sky, flooded with sunlight.  He let the clasp of his fingers, strong as he could manage, say what he couldn't seem to voice.  
  


* * *

  
Clark felt Bruce's hand tighten and it was all he could do not to laugh with the pleasure of it, all he could do to keep his feet on the ground where they belonged and not whirl them both into the lapis sky, almost as blue as Bruce's eyes, almost as flawless as Bruce's smile.  He even let Bruce pay for their admission to Toshogu, unwilling to argue about anything this morning.  
  
They climbed the cedar-lined path to the most famous Shogun's mausoleum, passing stalls selling grilled skewered fish and glazed sweet potatoes, cedar chips soft under their feet.  As they reached the first building in the compound, Clark whistled in amazement.  "This is a bit different from the temples we saw in Kyoto," he said, unsure whether he felt admiring or appalled.  
  
The buildings and gates were covered with the most ornate carvings Clark had ever seen, garishly colored in scarlet, green, and gold.  Stylized dragons and lions leered from every rooftop;  ornate blossoms and leaves covered every square inch of architecture.  Everything was picked out in gilt that glowed and glittered in the sun.  The overall effect managed to be both awe-inspiring and vulgar.  "It's kind of...flashy, isn't it?"  Clark muttered as they made their way along the stone paths through gate after magnificent gate.  
  
"He was one of the most powerful and influential men of his time, Clark."  
  
"I suspect he was a jackass, too."  
  
Bruce snorted laughter.  "He was a realist in a violent time.  He survived by his wiles, wits, and good strategy to become a great leader and unifier.  He would have felt he deserved a nice memorial for that."  
  
"I begin to suspect you admire the man," Clark said, letting Bruce's hand slip from his for a moment, letting the other man walk ahead a few steps.  
  
Bruce turned and beamed at him, his face playboy-charming and voice light.  "What's not to admire about a brutal strategist and cunning survivor who wanted beautiful things near him always?"  
  
Clark stared.  "I can never tell if you're making fun of me or trying to pay me a compliment."  
  
"I'm just talking about historical figures, Clark."  The smirk Bruce tossed back at him was ambiguous and elusive as fog.  
  
The valley the complex nestled in seemed to be brimming with afternoon sunlight dancing off the scarlet foliage and the gilt buildings, like a cup filled with light.  A soul filled with light.  Clark stopped for a moment and took a deep breath of brightness, his eyes closed.  He opened his eyes to find Bruce looking at him in a haze of sunlight, a long, appraising look.  "It's a perfect day, isn't it?" Clark said, and Bruce nodded.  
  
"Perfect."  
  
They strolled around the grounds, taking their time and enjoying the scenery, until Bruce suggested they leave and get some lunch.  At a little noodle shop near the grounds, Clark slurped buckwheat noodles as a television muttered in the background and Japanese tourists drank beer and laughed.  Across the table, Bruce sipped his broth and eyed him over the rim of the bowl.  
  
That their feet were touching under the table could have been an accident.  
  
Clark set his bowl down and sighed with satisfaction.  "So," he said, "Do you think this can work?"  Bruce cocked an inquisitive eyebrow and Clark continued, waving his chopsticks.  "You know, this.  Us.  That we can work together and blow off steam together sometimes and just...have fun together?  Be there for each other as teammates and friends and...enjoy this, too?"   
  
He was surprised to find he was holding his breath waiting for Bruce's answer, and when the other man shook his head dubiously, Clark felt his spirits sink.  "I don't know, Clark," Bruce said slowly.  "In my experience, that kind of relationship doesn't often work.  Someone always ends up wanting more, wanting a commitment, a real full-time relationship, and then the playtime's over one way or the other."  
  
Clark frowned, feeling stung.  "I don't think it's fair to just assume I'd demand more than this."  
  
Bruce's gaze was level and grave.  "Did I say anything about  _you_  being the one to want more?"  
  
Clark realized his mouth was hanging open;  he closed it carefully, opened it again, and found he had no idea what to say.  Bruce frowned furiously into his soup bowl and Clark gathered himself for another attempt...but before he could find words, Bruce's head snapped around to stare at the television.  
  
The talking head was reading from a piece of paper.  < ...leaving five prison guards dead.  Kyodai was recently convicted of the murder of a prominent businessman and an assassination attempt on the Prime Minister.  His whereabouts are unknown at this time.  To repeat, Kyodai Ken has... >  
  
Bruce was already out of the shop;  Clark dropped money on the table and followed him, hurrying to catch up.  Bruce whirled.  "The wedding yesterday.  He hates Yoru- _sensei_  almost as much as he hates me, he'll try to find Kaori and her new husband, make us all suffer.  We have to find him first."  
  
"Change.  I'll give you a lift."  
  
"Yes."  
  
 ****

* * *

 **  
**Yoru- _sensei_ did not seem particularly surprised when Superman and Batman appeared at the dojo.  "You heard," he said.  
  
"Yes.  I had my friend fly me here."  Which was true, if a bit misleading.  Bruce was fairly certain his old teacher knew perfectly well that Bruce and Batman were one and the same, but he had never said so directly.  
  
"I called Kaori and told her and Hiroshi to come home.  They just arrived in Nagano and will turn around and come back."  
  
Batman turned to Superman.  "Can you bring them both back?  It's quicker and safer."  
  
"Of course."  Superman listened carefully to Yoru- _sensei's_ directions, then sprang into the air and was gone.  
  
Yoru- _sensei_  frowned as Superman dwindled into the sky.  "Katana is isolated deep in the mountains and will not return for days still.  She should be informed that there is danger here."  
  
"Superman or I will go look for her once we know Kaori is safe.  We can't--"  
  
There was a shattering of paper and wood as the  _shoji_ windows of the dojo gave way before Kyodai Ken's leap.  The ninja was carrying a drawn sword, his eyes blazing, his fighting style more ferocious than ever before.  Batman dodged the whistling blade, and behind him Yoru cried out.  "The sword--he is wielding Soultaker!"   
  
Bruce cursed to himself as Kyodai's chuckle echoed through the room.  He had no doubt Katana was badly hurt, perhaps dead, if the ninja were carrying her sword.  He put the thought away brutally, telling himself to focus on the here and now.  
  
The here and now was that he was fighting a deadly ninja with a soul-devouring blade in a building full of young students, not to mention his old friend and teacher.  Batman pivoted and leapt from the dojo through the same window Kyodai had come in, the blade singing just past his neck.   
  
The ninja pursued him onto the gently sloping grounds, white pebbles scattering like hail before them.  Yoru _-sensei_ didn't follow after, and Bruce knew he would be evacuating any bystanders in the other direction.  He led Kyodai further away from the dojo and into the woods, eerie laughter echoing after him.  
  
Batman used low-hanging branches of a maple tree to block wildly hacking blows from the ninja.  "Coward!  Rich man's son!"  Kyodai howled.  "Stand tall and face your master!"  The ninja pulled back and sheathed the sword, then flicked shuriken from his belt like silver snowflakes at Batman:  one, two, three coming at him.  He shifted his stance to dodge as Kyodai dropped into a roll.  
  
A flicker of red and blue out of the corner of his eye, and in a frozen moment Bruce saw Kyodai coming out of his roll, unsheathing the sword, gleeful anticipation in every line.  
  
 ****

* * *

 **  
**Superman dropped Kaori and her new husband onto the porch;  Kaori flew to her foster-father's arms.  "Kyodai is here, he attacked Batman and the Dark Knight led him away into the woods,  in that direction."  Yoru pointed and Clark was gone in a burst of speed before he could say more, heart pounding.  
  
From the sky he spotted them in a clearing, two figures circling each other warily.  The ninja stepped back, and Superman saw steel floating toward Batman's head:  three shuriken, poison sheening their edges.  Bruce could probably handle them, he could surely handle them...but Superman couldn't bear to wait and see when he could make sure Bruce was safe.  He darted down from the sky and plucked the deadly projectiles out of the air, landing between the two assailants.  He turned to flash Batman an apologetic smile--and saw the horror on Bruce's face at the same moment he felt the blade bury itself in his back, cold as death.  
  
Cold as death.  
  


* * *

  
Bruce saw surprise bloom on Clark's face as the sword cut through invulnerable cloth, invulnerable skin, invulnerable flesh.  The katana emerged just below the "S," dripping red, the tip rising to brush Bruce's cheek as gently and obscenely as a kiss.  Clark gasped in shock, brilliant red froth on his lips, as he staggered forward into Bruce's arms.   
  
Kyodai kicked the Kryptonian forward off the sword, wrenching it out with a vicious twist.  "Everything you hold dear," he hissed at Bruce.  "I'll take it all."  Then he was gone in a rustle of leaves and half-sane laughter.  
  
Bruce knew he should be following the ninja, should be...but Clark's hands were in his cape and Clark's blood was everywhere, and Clark's eyes were vague and clouding over.  "No," Bruce said, his voice sounding very far away.  
  
Clark's lips moved slightly but there were no words, only blood.  Blue eyes growing dull as stones, locking on his, wordlessly saying more than Bruce could bear.  
  
Sunlight.  He had to get Clark into sunlight.  It might help.  It might.  
  
He staggered a few steps with the heavy body (growing heavier, going limp) in his arms, maneuvered Clark into a beam of sunlight coming down through the branches.  The golden light hit the Kryptonian, bathing him in radiance, touching his hair with brilliance, gilding his skin.  But the wound continued to drip blood onto the dead leaves, turning them a deeper crimson, and Clark didn't heal.  His eyes closed and his breath stilled to the merest thread, a scarlet thread that bound Bruce's sanity together.  
  
Bruce Wayne knelt beside Superman in a glory of falling autumn leaves and sunlight, and felt him slipping away. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fledging JLA and Batman deal with Superman's injury; Bruce deals with Clark being injured somewhat differently.

_The autumn cicada  
Dies beside its shell.  
\--Naito Joso  
_  
The Yoru dojo was in chaos.  Green Lantern set Superman's barely-breathing form down on the mat prepared for him, the green glow holding him as gently as a child might hold a kitten.  The Martian Manhunter knelt by the Kryptonian's side, placing his hands on Superman's temples.  Flash appeared in the hallway holding the limp body of Katana, feverish and raving about souls and power.  Yoru's elder foster-daughter, Kaori, went up to the Flash and tentatively touched him on the arm.  "We have prepared a bed for her in another room.  This way, please."    
  
As the Flash moved down the hall, the Martian Manhunter was murmuring words in his own tongue, still concentrating.  Green Lantern narrowed his beam to a laser-sharp focus and applied it to the wound, cleaning and cauterizing it in emerald radiance.  The force field filled the room with a faint electromagnetic buzz, the Martian's chant rising and falling through it.  
  
Batman stood unmoving in the middle of the commotion, staring at Superman.  Kaori brought him a steaming damp cloth and he wiped his black-gloved hands on it absent-mindedly, then held the red-soaked cloth as if he didn't know what to do with it, looking down at the blood and then back at Superman.  Kaori took it from him gently.  "Forgive me,  _Komori-san,_  but...your face," she said, reaching up to wipe away the tiny bloody mark on Batman's cheek.    
  
Batman jerked away from her as if she held an adder instead of a white washcloth, growling.  Kaori flinched backward a bit.  Then she followed his unwavering gaze to the still body on the cot and her face softened.  She patted him gently on the shoulder and left the room.  
  
Yoru _-sensei_  and the Flash re-entered the room after a moment.  "How's the girl?"  Hal asked.  
  
The teacher frowned.  "Katana is a great warrior, but the poison is strong.  The loss of the sword has wounded her spirit as well.  She will live, but it will be a struggle."  
  
"And Superman?"  Flash said.  
  
Yoru shook his head wordlessly, glancing at Batman.  Each time the Kryptonian exhaled, there was a pause, a long moment before he started the next slow, dragging inhalation.  
  
At each pause, the Dark Knight held his breath too, waiting to hear Superman draw breath again.  
  
The Martian Manhunter raised his head, his crimson eyes dull and weary.  "His material condition has stabilized.  Thanks to Green Lantern, his physical wound is not the issue," he said.  "Soultaker is a magical sword, one that devours the souls of its victims.  The blow that struck Superman would have killed a human.  Though it has not yet killed him, the rules of magic are arcane and unpredictable, and I do not pretend to be an expert on them.  The situation is complicated by the fact that Superman lacks a human soul."  
  
"How  _dare_  you--"  Batman spoke for the first time, snarling.  He broke off as J'onn met his gaze.  
  
"Surely you know I do not mean that as a slur, Batman.  It is merely the truth.  His soul is not human, it is Kryptonian.  Soultaker has never encountered such a soul before and it slowing the process."    
  
Hal chuckled grimly.  "You mean it's giving the soul-eater indigestion?  Give 'im hell, Superman."   
  
Flash's face was still solemn.  "You said 'slowing.'"  
  
"Indeed."  J'onn touched Superman gently on the temple.  "I can sense his life essence, but it is ebbing, being drawn away.  He is still tied to this plane and his soul struggles to return to his body, but the bond frays even as we speak.  I am afraid the loss of his soul is gradual, but still inexorable."  The Martian shifted his gaze to Batman and addressed him directly.  "He is dying.  And when he dies, I fear his soul--human or not--will be trapped forever in the blade."  
  
Flash inhaled deeply.  "There has to be something we can do.  If we at least had the sword here, we could...test it, find out how it works..."  
  
The Martian hesitated and Yoru- _sensei_  spoke into the silence.  "There might be options if we had the sword.  Perhaps.  If we gained control of the sword before..."  
  
Green Lantern smacked a fist into his hand.  "Damn it!  All the bastard needs to do is hide long enough and he wins!  He doesn't even need to face us, the coward!"  Frustration etched his voice.   
  
"It is the way of the ninja, to hide in the shadows," Yoru said sadly, and Hal snarled, his ring flaring emerald.  
  
"Well  _my_  way is to make sure there aren't any shadows to hide in."  He beckoned to the other heroes as he opened the external doors, preparing to take to the air.  "Let's move out."  
  
J'onn rose from Superman's form and moved to stand next to Batman.  He almost raised a hand to touch him, then appeared to think better of it.  "Wonder Woman is on Monitor Duty, but I shall contact Aquaman to see if he can find any intelligence of use."  
  
Batman's laugh was harsh and low.  "Yes, if any goldfish spot Kyodai I'm sure he'll be the first to know."  
  
J'onn frowned.  "You are too quick to dismiss our newer members, Batman."  The other man didn't meet his look, still staring at the bright-clothed body.  J'onn sighed.  "Will you join us in searching?"  
  
"You're not going searching, J'onn," said Batman.  "You're going to Metropolis and patrolling as Superman."  
  
Green Lantern, Flash, and the Martian Manhunter all stared at him.  J'onn frowned.  "Surely we should be focusing our energy on--"  
  
Batman cut him off with a slashing hand motion.  "Think pragmatically, J'onn.  If Superman dies, we'll need time to come up with a strategy to deal with the loss, and the moment it becomes suspected something is wrong, every criminal from the two-bit mugger on the street to Lex Luthor is going to take advantage of the power vacuum.  We need to delay that moment as long as possible, and we can do that best by making sure Superman is seen in public.  If it confuses Kyodai, so much the better."  
  
Flash shook his head, his blue eyes narrowed.  "That's pretty cold, Batman."  But Green Lantern nodded approvingly.  
  
"No.  He's right, we can't get emotional about this.  This isn't the time for mourning or revenge.  We all knew the risks when we signed up, and right now we've got a job to do."  He nodded again.  "Good call, Batman.  Someone's got to make the cold, hard decisions."  
  
"Cold.  Yes."  Batman's voice was entirely flat.  
  
The Martian's form blurred and became a match for the unconscious man on the matting, but gloriously healthy and vibrant.  Brilliant eyes filled with compassion met Batman's impassive gaze.  "I understand," J'onn said in Superman's resonant voice, and the three superheroes were gone into the night.  
  
Yoru focused on Batman.  "Will you not go with them to search?"  
  
Batman shook his head, very slightly, as if to move more would be to lose sight of the red and blue figure on the tatami.  "Give me a moment."  
  
The aged sensei bowed more deeply than was strictly necessary and left the room.  
  


* * *

  
With the room finally empty, Batman knelt next to Superman, listening to his breath rise and fall, waiting through each gasping pause.  The Kryptonian was deathly pale, an almost pearly sheen on his skin, his brow damp with sweat.  Bruce took a cloth and wiped Clark's forehead carefully, then sat for a long time as the sunlight faded into darkness.  
  
He wanted to take the cowl off, he realized, to be here as Bruce and not as Batman.  It seemed...wrong, somehow, to be the Dark Knight at the deathbed of his friend.  But there were too many people in the dojo that he didn't want to burden with overt knowledge of his identity.  
  
Clark would understand if he didn't, he thought.  Clark knew who he was whether he was wearing a mask or not.  
  
He took the heavy black gloves off, at least, and clasped the lax white hands in his.   
  
They were cold.    
  
"Clark," he began, then stopped, shocked at the pain in his own voice.  He swallowed hard and started again, aiming for a more casual tone.  "I was going to tell you, you know.  That I love you.  Hey," he said defensively in response to a non-existent answer, "I was getting there.  It's not every day I make a confession like that.   I...don't think I ever have, actually."  He stopped again, hearing his voice twist and cramp.    
  
A shadow crossed Clark's unconscious face, his eyes moving as if in dreams, his breath catching for an agonizing moment.  Bruce lifted a hand to the other man's brow, drawing the glossy black curl between his fingers gently.  "It's a momentous thing, Clark.  Don't think I don't know it.  Not only am I crazy enough to say I want to be with you, only you...I'm crazy enough to suspect you want the same thing."  He smoothed one of Clark's dark eyebrows with his thumb.  "So you have to come back, Clark.  You have to come back so I can tell you I love you."  
  
Clark's face was like marble, like the moon, pale and remote, fading away.  On an impulse--vague memories of fairy tale lovers, wakened with a kiss--he bent his mouth to Clark's cool lips.  "I love you," he murmured against the other man's mouth, feeling his breath warm on Clark's lips.  "Wake up, love."  
  
Nothing happened.  Clark's breaths still labored and struggled, Clark's eyes stayed closed.    
  
"Well," said Bruce out loud, feeling extremely foolish,  "the odds of that working were infinitesimal.  I knew that.  I did.  But I thought, it's a magic sword, maybe--if there were any chance at all, maybe--"  Horrifyingly, his voice broke.  "Talk about pathetically desperate."  
  
He felt his throat close up, felt the backs of his eyes burning in impotent rage that threatened to be something else, pain and yearning boiling inside him--  
  
 _Torchlight on shining stone.  Smell of brimstone.  Torchlight.  
_  
Bruce sat upright, catching at the sudden flicker of image, but it was gone, if it had ever really been there.    
  
He remembered the caves dug into the side of the volcano to the west, the warren of passages in which the ninja had found that ancient parchment two years ago.  
  
Could Kyodai have gone to ground there?  
  
Bruce gripped Clark's hands tighter, his mind racing.  He should contact the rest of the League, tell them...tell them what?  That he  _had a hunch_  about where Kyodai might be?  Ridiculous.  Illogical.  
  
But he couldn't just sit here and watch Clark die any longer.  
  
He touched his lips to Clark's brow.  "Keep fighting," he whispered.  Then he slipped out of the dojo and into the gathering night.    
  
As he made his way through the forest toward the volcano, the rational detective in him railed at his actions.  He was following a whim.  Following a crazy impulse.  
  
But something deeper, something truer, spoke beneath it.  
  
 _Following my heart._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Batman hunts down Kyodai Ken to save Superman's soul.

_Now to meet only in dreams,  
Bitterly seeking,  
Starting from sleep,  
Groping in the dark  
With hands that touch nothing.  
\--Yakamochi  
_  
Batman stepped into the mouth of the cave that led into the maze-like warren of passages within Mount Kajiike.  He moved cautiously into the darkness, flicking the infra-red lenses over his eyes so he could make his way into the blackness.  All around him he could hear the mutterings of the volcano, and a breeze heavy with brimstone wafted past him.  
  
As he made his way into the heart of the mountain, the darkness became absolute.  Even with the lenses it became difficult to make out the way, and he ran one hand over the wall as he walked to keep his bearings.  
  
When he came to the first fork in the tunnel, he halted, irresolute.  No sound, no light gave him a hint of which way to go.  For a moment he felt despair as crushing as the weight of the mountain around him:  this was a fool's errand, he was wasting what could be the last hours of Clark's life wandering aimlessly around in the darkness, alone.  
  
It seemed terribly fitting.  
  
Then he thrust the bleakness from him.  He was already here on a mad whim, what did he have to lose by indulging it completely?  He squared his shoulders, closed his eyes, and focused on the memory of Clark in the sunlight, smiling, scarlet leaves framing his face.  The memory of how he felt when Clark reached out to take his hand openly, in front of everyone. _  
  
 _This way._  
_  
He opened his eyes and went left without thinking further.  
  
At the next junction he remembered Clark playing video games in Shinjuku, his laughter ringing out over the electronic sounds all around them.  How it had felt to relax and play, how it had felt to realize this man could perhaps be a friend. _  
  
 _This way._  
  
_ At the next he called up Clark in his silly ill-fitting Superman costume at the cafe, the way he had fallen into Bruce's arms as into deep water, the feel of his body under Bruce's hands.  He remembered afresh the shock of impossible joy that Clark could want him too, that they could want each other.  
  
There were thirty-six forks.   
  
Thirty-six views of Clark.    
  
Thirty-six views of Bruce's heart.  
  
Shortly after the last turn, the darkness gave way, ever so slightly, to a faint and flickering red.  Batman made his way toward it silently, and as he did the sound of a human voice became audible over the rumbling of the volcano.  Kyodai Ken was speaking. _  
  
_< You make an excellent argument,  > the ninja said slowly.  < Yes.  It's an option to consider.  You would help? > A pause as if he were listening to an answer, but Batman heard no other voice.  < Yes, even that.  Do not think to doubt my resolve! > Kyodai's voice sharpened for a second, then went back to its former musing tone.  < I see.  I understand. >  
  
Staying to the thick shadows, Bruce edged forward and found that the corridor widened into a vast room.  Sitting on a rock in the center of the room was Kyodai, unmasked, cradling Soultaker gently in his hands.  The flickering red light came from the sword, a sluggish, almost sullen crimson that lit Kyodai's face from below and made him look even more saturnine.  
  
As Batman slid through the shadows, trying to get the best position for an attack, Kyodai looked up sharply.  "Eh?"  He leapt to his feet, brandishing the katana, which dripped scarlet light like blood.  "I hear you," he said harshly.  "My sword hears you.  Show yourself, or do you skulk in shadows like a ninja now?"  
  
The element of surprise lost, Batman stepped forward, gauging Kyodai's stance, the wild look in the other man's eyes.   "It's not your sword," he said.  
  
A wild laugh.  "This sword serves only the strong, and I have mastered it!" _  
  
_"Really?"  Batman's voice was cool.  "I suspect it has mastered you, Kyodai."  
  
A muscle twitched at the corner of the ninja's eye.  "Better than being mastered by some alien, better than submitting to sentiment and lust."  Kyodai growled low in his throat.  "You were always weak, rich man's son.  First Matsunaga, then the reporter--how many must I take from you before you understand how weak you are?"  His sword-arm twitched as if he could barely restrain himself.  
  
Bruce set his feet solidly against the mountain beneath him.  The quick smile of youth, the wisdom of age, the brightness of loving eyes flashed through his mind.  "Love doesn't make me weak, Kyodai.  It never could."   
  
The ninja gave an inarticulate yell of rage and madness and rushed Batman, sword raised high.  The ninja fought with frenzy, filled with bloodlust, his actions difficult to predict.  Bruce scrambled over stones, his footing uncertain in the wavering light--blocking, shifting, weaving, keeping his eyes on the sword.  A rock turned under his foot and he went heavily to one knee;  Kyodai leapt forward with a shout of triumph, the blade raised high.  
  
Leaving himself open in his glee. _  
  
_Batman shifted his weight and lashed out with a boot, connecting solidly with the ninja's wrist, sending the katana spinning into the air.  
  
In a long, frozen moment, the two of them struggled to get under the katana and catch it from the air.  Bruce's rolling leap was ever so slightly faster, more focused.    
  
His fingers closed over the hilt.  
  
At his touch, a burst of dazzling blue-white light erupted from the sword, pure and blinding.  Kyodai staggered backwards away from it, an arm flung over his face.  Bruce sensed his motions only dimly, awash in shattering radiance.  
  
He felt Clark's soul in the sword, felt Clark's soul kindle in the palm of his hand. _  
  
_For a timeless instant, he touched Clark's spirit directly.  Felt Clark's love for him--it was impossible to call it anything but love, pure and true and passionate.  He was bathed in light, in love, and his own soul sang out to meet its mate, unable to hide anything, unable...  
  
 _Bruce?_   Clark's voice in his mind was puzzled and then joyous.   _Bruce!_   Fidelity and devotion like incandescence, burning without pain.  No pain, no doubt, nothing but love. _  
  
_Nothing but love.  
  
Bruce struggled to return his mind to the cavern, where Kyodai would be waiting for him...the light dimmed slightly and Bruce saw Kyodai still in mid-tumble away from him.  The brightness was still in Bruce's eyes, making them stream with tears, and he dropped into a defensive stance as Kyodai came up, snarling, and launched himself at Batman.  
  
The katana was quicksilver-light in his hands, slapping away the ninja's attacks almost casually, and Kyodai came to a halt, panting in thwarted fury.    
  
Batman leveled the sword at him, trailing light like veils.  "Tell me how to return his soul!" he barked.  Kyodai paused and Batman advanced a step.  "Tell me!"  
  
Kyodai's smile was edged in silver light, venomous.  "Only the one who delivered the blow can command Soultaker to release a soul.  And I will not."  
  
"You're beaten, Kyodai.  There's no way out."    
  
"There is always a way out for a ninja."  
  
"You  _will_  do it."  The sword flared up briefly and subsided again, warm and consoling in Bruce's hand, filling him with trust and hope.  
  
The ninja chuckled low in his throat.  "Is there finally something the rich man's son cannot buy?"  He crouched, swaying, testing Batman's reach.  "Something beyond his reach?  Something I have the power to keep from him forever?"  At the last word he flung himself forward, hands raised to strike a blow at Batman's side.  
  
When Bruce moved the sword to block him, the ninja opened his stance and impaled himself on Soultaker.  
  
As Batman tried to step back, the ninja reached out to grab the sword and push it deeper into his own body.  He inched closer, making his way up the blade until he was close enough to touch Batman.  
  
Kyodai Ken spat blood and hatred in Bruce's face and died smiling.  
  
And the dazzling light of the sword went out, leaving Bruce alone in the dark.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A man who has lost his name wanders in search of something; Batman seeks counsel on how best to save Superman, then takes appropriate action.

_I dreamed I held  
A sword against my flesh.  
What does it mean?  
It means I shall see you soon.  
\--Lady Kana  
_  
He was on a vast plain.  A cold wind blew across it and stirred his robes.  Behind him was nothing but empty plain, before him only a long line to the horizon.  He had no idea what had come before this moment;   it was as if he had begun his existence here.  
  
Because there was nothing else to do, he started walking toward the horizon.  
  
As he walked, the landscape began to shift around him.  In the distance he could see forests and mountains, wavering and changing, never stable.  He walked on, doggedly, under a sky like pewter.   When he grew tired, he stopped and rested.  Hunger and thirst there were no cure for.   
  
At some point he became aware there was a castle on the horizon, gray with a roof of azure-blue tiles.  It came to him, somehow, that there would be answers in that castle.  That there would be a way out.  
  
A way out of  _what_  he wasn't sure, but it seemed as good a goal as any.  He set his sights on the distant castle and walked on.  The plain began to give way to rolling hills, the grass beneath his feet dead and dun-colored.  
  
The trek was interminable, and the castle seemed to get closer and then recede before him, like a mirage or illusion.  Sometimes the ground trembled and shook under his feet, almost pitching him forward.  Despair threatened to overwhelm him, but he moved on, more because he had no other option than out of a sense of hope.  
  
A sound tugged at the edge of his hearing, a strange metallic rustling.  As he topped a small rise, he saw before him a field that shone dully in the hazy light,  rippling.  He walked to its boundary and saw that it was a field of silvery grass, each blade distinct.  He looked up.  The castle was on the other side of the field.  
  
He stepped into the grass and then pulled his foot back, wincing.  A thin trail of blood trickled down his leg and he stared, fascinated, unsure why the sight of his own blood would appall him so.  It just didn't seem  _right._   He looked more closely at the grass and realized each blade was truly silver, metallic and edged, a tiny sword.  
  
Stubbornly, he stepped into the field.  He had to get to that castle.  
  
The razor grass cut at him, leaving thin cuts at first, but slowly becoming deeper and deeper until the pain was almost overwhelming.  There was no end in sight, the field stretched on as far as he could see.  He staggered a few more steps and then sank to his hands and knees, almost crying out in agony as the grass lashed at him.  
  
A wild fluttering rushing noise caused him to look up in the sky.  A cloud of dark wings, a tumult of noise--a flock of birds descended all around him. He put up his hands to shield his face, but the birds ignored him.  Each of them uprooted a blade of grass, pulling at it as it might pull a worm out of the ground, then flew away.   
  
In a moment, a path stretched ahead of him toward the castle, clear and grass-free.  One bird remained, sitting on the ground in front of him.  Without thinking, he put his hand out and the bird fluttered up to land in his palm.  It was a brown bird with red feathers on its chest--he couldn't remember its name, and that bothered him.  "Thank you," he said, and the bird bobbed happily, trilled a measure of song, and flew off.  
  
He kept walking.  
  
The rolling hills gave way to a canyon, red rock walls all around him.  The silence was complete.  He had tried singing, but his voice had sounded oddly thin and ghostly, and he had given up.  When he heard the rustle of infinite wings again, he hoped for a moment the birds had come back to keep him company.  The dark cloud in the air might be birds--but as it drew closer he realized it wasn't birds at all, and he scrambled in vain to find a hiding place before it descended on him.  
  
Locusts. A vast swarm of locusts, their wings rasping and whirring, their feet grasping at his clothes, at his hair.  They bit at him and this time he did cry out, in shock and terror, trying futilely to brush their clinging claws away, a cloud of insects bearing him down...  
  
His salvation was silent this time;  as he huddled on the dry earth, hands over his head, he slowly realized the whirring was diminishing, the gripping claws lessening in number.  He ventured a look up and saw the soundless wings against the sky, dipping and weaving.  
  
Mice with wings, devouring the locusts.  His mind groped for the right name for the little animals and he couldn't do it, it slipped away from him like the name of the birds, leaving him frustrated to the point of tears.  He was still struggling to remember the right word as the animals winged away again, leaving just one sitting on the ground, spitting out chitinous wings with a sound of disgust.  He reached down and the mouse-like thing clung to his hand, hanging upside down, claws gripping too gently to hurt.  
  
He raised the winged mouse to eye level.  "Thank you," he said again.  "I'm sorry I can't remember your name.  I can't remember mine either," he said in sudden realization.  
  
The little creature wrapped its wings around itself and eyed him gravely for a moment, then chittered and flew away, its wings brushing against his face briefly.  
  
He walked on.  The castle seemed closer now, but still came and went maddeningly.  
  
This time the rushing noise was a river.  He stopped on the bank, staring at the milky torrent.  He couldn't see a bridge in either direction.  Could he ford it?  He was badly weakened from the two attacks, his legs bloody and his arms bitten.  His robes were badly tattered around the hem-- _robes?_   he thought for the first time, examining the loose white cloth.  That didn't feel quite right.  
  
Considering he couldn't remember his own name, who could say?  
  
A thin, miserable sound broke into his reverie, barely audible over the sound of the river:  A child weeping.  
  
He made his way toward it to find a tiny, naked child, no more than a toddler, piling pebbles on the edge of the river, crying.  More than one child--children, maybe a dozen of them, small as dolls, all making towers of pebbles.  He crouched down beside the baby.  "What's wrong, child?"  
  
The child turned a tear-stained face to him.  "We cannot cross the river.  The witch who guards the river says we must build towers of pebbles to cross, but every time we build them, she knocks them down.  We cannot cross.  We cannot continue our journey."  All around were the sounds of lamentation as the tiny children built their endless stacks of pebbles.  
  
Anger welled in him.  "I'll take you across the river."  
  
A dozen tiny faces turned to him, hope warring with fear.  "She will catch you, Datsueba will catch you.  She will strip your clothes from you and strip the skin from us all as punishment."  
  
"The hell she will," he growled, letting his anger put bravado in his voice.  "Hide in my robes, I'll get us all across."  
  
The children scrambled to cling to the folds of his robe, which somehow managed to cover them.  Burdened and exhausted, he stepped into the raging river.  
  
His footing almost slipped immediately, and he gritted his teeth and reset his feet, moving step by treacherous step, letting the water batter him, shielding the children as much as possible.  "She comes," a multitude of tiny voices rose around him, "Datsueba, the hag, she comes to strip us bare, she comes."  
  
He sensed her approach over the rush of the river, a fetid, rotting wind.  He couldn't fight her, he could hardly keep his balance, but he faced her, knowing this would be the end--  
  
And then, without warning, shadows engulfed him.  There was a moment's panic as the darkness closed around him, and then suddenly the sound of the river, the weeping children, the hag's laughter fell away.  
  
The darkness held him steady in the rushing waters, it hid him from the hunting witch, it sheltered him.   
  
It loved him.  
  
He felt someone, somewhere, reaching out to him, and felt his soul leap in impossible recognition, a name coming to him out of nowhere.   _Bruce?_   he asked, and then cried it with all his heart:   _Bruce!  
  
_ The darkness touched him and soothed him and he felt the unknown soul-- _no,_  never unknown, known completely if not remembered--burn with tenderness and passion for him, for him.  For a timeless moment he knew himself loved completely, knew that whatever happened he would never forget that.  
  
Then the sheltering darkness receded and he was on the other shore.  The children were gone--safe--his wounds were healed.  Somehow he had crossed the river, somehow he could continue his journey.  
  
He set out with a new sense of purpose, his strides full of energy.  
  
Somewhere out there was someone who loved him, a someone to return to.  He held the name like a talisman against despair.  
  
 _Bruce._  
  


* * *

  
Yoru- _sensei_  and Katana looked up from scraps of parchment arranged on the floor as Batman entered the room.  Kaori sprang from Superman's side, hope lighting her face.  "You have the sword?"  
  
Batman held out the blood-streaked blade, heavy and lifeless in his hand.  "He killed himself.  He killed himself rather than help me," he said to Yoru, and Yoru bowed his head in despair.  "What are our options?"  
  
Katana's face was pale and her eyes burned with exhaustion and something deeper.  "We have been studying the records we could find about Muramasa and Soultaker.  Searching for something to help."   
  
She held out her hands for the sword and Batman handed it to her with a bow.  "You should be resting," he said, his voice rougher than he wanted it to be.  "She should be resting," he repeated to Yoru.  
  
Katana made a motion as if to rise, but fell back wincing and touching the splint on her leg.  "I  _failed_ ," she hissed.  "I am Soultaker's guardian and I  _failed._   There is no rest and no peace for me until this wrong is righted."  
  
Batman cast an appealing look at Yoru, who shook his head.  "It is the way of the samurai," he said.  "She has been very helpful in deciphering and understanding these documents.  I believe we now better understand how Soultaker works."  
  
Exhaustion fell away.  "Tell me."  
  
Katana pointed to a scrap of parchment, ripped in two, ancient Japanese calligraphy on it.  "Souls trapped in the sword reside in Fukumaden, the Land of the Demons.  It is a realm of dreams and illusions where the souls drift and wander."  
  
Bruce couldn't help but glance at Clark's still face, remembering the aching confusion in Clark's soul at the moment he had touched it.  The image of his lover wandering, lost...he shook his head to dispel the thoughts and turned back to Katana, who was tracing words on another scroll.  
  
"It might be possible to bring a soul back from Fukumaden, but someone must enter the blade voluntarily to find them and save them."  
  
For the first time in hours, Bruce felt a spark of hope.  "Enter the sword?  How is this done?"  
  
Yoru and Katana looked at each other uneasily and were silent.  Bruce knew his voice was shaking with frustration as he gritted out the words:  "Tell me how this is done!"  
  
Yoru raised his eyes to meet Batman's angry gaze.  "You will not like the answer."  
  


* * *

  
"It is  _my_  blade,  _my_ failure,and _my_  responsibility!"  Katana raged.  " _I_  should be the one, not you!"  
  
Bruce was wearing a loose white robe;  he had been unhappy about being forced to reveal his identity to Katana, but she had barely batted an eyelash when Bruce Wayne had entered the room, focusing instead on her fury.  "Katana," he said as gently as he could, "Fukumaden reflects, to some extent, the mental state of the master of the sword.  I need you here to ground and stabilize it."  
  
"Master of the sword."  Her voice was bitter.  "A fine master I am."   
  
He put his hands on her shoulders: not an embrace, but a salute.  "Your redemption lies in mastering the sword in this world, not from the world within it."  
  
Anger warred with misery and resolution on her face;  resolution won.  She bowed curtly to him and left the room.  
  
The Martian Manhunter remained.  "I need to be alone for this, J'onn," Bruce said.  "You can both come back when I've entered the sword."  
  
The Martian's brow was furrowed.  "I still think Diana or I would have been a better choice."  
  
"Neither you nor Diana exactly have a human soul either," Bruce said steadily.  "We can't risk it."  
  
"Then Hal, or Barry--"  J'onn broke off at the look on Bruce's face.  "It is not that I doubt your resolve, or your courage.  But if you fail to retrieve Superman's soul we will lose you both.  The League cannot afford such a blow."  
  
Rather than respond immediately, Bruce crouched beside Superman, touching the cold brow gently.  Then he looked up at J'onn.  "Will you tell me that anyone else in the world knows his soul better than I do?"  
  
J'onn looked at him for a long moment, then bowed his head.  "May L'Zoril guide your soul," he said.  It sounded like a formal farewell.  The wooden door slid shut behind him with quiet finality.  
  
Bruce lit the three white candles;  the scent of beeswax filled the room almost immediately.  He settled on the white silk cloth, his bare feet tucked under him.  In front of him were three small china bowls filled with green leaves and purple flowers:  the sharp scents of eucalyptus and thyme mingled with the lighter floral of heliotrope.  Mumbo-jumbo, mystical nonsense...Bruce stilled his mind and carefully put his skepticism aside.  If there was the slightest chance of this working, the proper mental state was as important as the proper accouterments.  
  
Bowing to the sword lying on a cushion in front of him, Bruce addressed it:  < Let purity of soul and will, this freely chosen fate / Protect and guide me there and back, through Fukumaden's gate. > At the archaic Japanese, the air seemed to thicken with power, sweet and cloying as the herbs before him, making the hairs on the back of his neck rise.  Beside him, Clark's breath hitched and caught, almost in a moan.  
  
Bruce slipped the robe off his shoulders, baring his chest, and picked up the sword.  He was pleased to note that the blade was absolutely steady in his hands.  
  
The tip brushed his bare chest, just below his diaphragm.  
  
He took a moment to synchronize his breathing to Clark's deep, gasping breaths.  Unbidden, a memory flashed into his mind:  reading old samurai love tales with Seio in which beautiful boys cut their lover's family crest into their flesh as a dying act of ultimate devotion.  A grim smile touched his lips at the image.  There was no need for such theatrics.  
  
One strike was enough.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the Realm of the Demons inside Soultaker, two souls journey toward a reunion.

_This heart,_  
 _longing for you,_  
 _breaks_  
 _to a thousand pieces--_  
 _I wouldn't lose one._  
 _\--Izumi Shikibu_  
  
As he walked away from the river, the landscape was still in chaos.  Forests of ancient cedars gave way to rugged cliffs gave way to tropical jungles;  the ground shook with earthquakes.  The gray castle with the blue roof was the only landmark he could make out consistently, so he struggled to make his way there.  Were the changes coming more slowly?  Sometimes it seemed it, but he couldn't be sure.  
  
He stepped without transition from a frozen swamp onto a rutted road shimmering in the heat of summer.  Cautiously, he made his way along it.  Ahead he could see small thatched huts, and his heart leapt as he quickened his pace, fearing they would vanish before he got there.  
  
As he entered the town, he saw a group of children playing;  remembering the babies from the other side of the river he walked toward them smiling.  But they shrank away from him and ran screaming, leaving him with his hands held out, alone.  As he walked through the town, shutters banged closed and people turned away;  he saw some of the villagers making warding signs in front of their faces as they retreated into their houses.  
  
He stood alone in the middle of the street.  
  
"They are afraid of you," a wavering voice said. he turned to see a wizened old lady, her almond eyes crinkling as she smiled up at him.   
  
"Afraid of me?  Why?  I won't hurt anyone."  
  
She nodded.  "But you do not belong here.  You are neither living nor dead, but trapped between the two.  You are unliving.  And so they fear you."  
  
He looked at his hands, noticing for the first time that he could see, very dimly, the woman through them.  They started shaking.  "Neither living nor dead...what can I do, what must I do, to become like you?  To rejoin the land of the living?"  
  
The woman smiled very sadly.  "You do not wish to become like us, stranger."  There was a sudden rumbling roar, and a huge fissure opened up in the middle of the town.  The woman continued steadily, speaking over the screams of the inhabitants as houses collapsed and flames roared out.  "We are the damned, we are the dead.  Until this realm is mastered once again, there is nothing for us but chaos and suffering."  The ground opened beneath her and she was gone.  
  
Horror-stricken, he tried to save people trapped in the buildings, but they fled from him further into the flames, their hair burning like torches, wailing.   As the ground gave way entirely, he reached burned hands for solid ground--and found himself on a beach alone, the waves pounding steadily.  
  
He lay on the cool sand and wept for a long time, unable to put the images from his mind, helplessness and rage boiling within him.  
  
Then he pulled himself to his feet and began to walk up the beach again, toward the castle.  
  
The landscape shifted again, as in a dream, and he was on a road, a fork in the path branching away from him to the left and right.  There was a signpost at the fork, and he walked to read it.  
  
He couldn't read the sign.  
  
In an excess of frustration, he grasped the post and shook it as if he could choke the information he needed from it, then slumped against it, his head bowed.  
  
A voice behind him spoke, "I know the way."  
  
He whirled to see a man in black standing behind him.  He was bald, with a goatee framing his smile, and stood on the balls of his feet as if ready for action.  The lines of his body oozed self-confidence and certainty.  "I know the way," he repeated.  "To the castle.  We can go there together."  
  
"You're not afraid of me," he said hesitantly.  
  
The man's smile didn't waver.  "Should I be?"  He held out his hand.  "Come with me.  It'll be easier if there are two of us."  
  
"Why would you help me?"  
  
The other man laughed.  "Perhaps I'm the person who needs help."  His easy confidence shone through his voice and his posture.  
  
He didn't look at all like a person who needed help.  
  
The man without a name started to put out his hand...then paused.  He lowered his hand.  "I'm sorry.  I think I need to travel my own path."  
  
The man in black didn't seem offended or angered.  If anything, his smile grew wider as he bowed deeply.  "Well, I shall meet you again sooner or later, I'm sure," he said cheerfully, then turned to walk down the left-hand path.  
  
He watched the other man go.  Then he turned down the right-hand path.  


* * *

  
Bruce opened his eyes to find himself in a redwood forest, the air humid and steamy all around him.  He reached down to touch his stomach--unmarked, of course.  He was still wearing the loose white robes he had donned to enter Soultaker, his feet bare.  Somewhere in the world above, J'onn was struggling to keep his body from passing beyond the point of no return, Katana was trying to master Soultaker, and Clark and Bruce's bodies were...  The massive trunks around him swayed suddenly and snow started to fall.  Bruce shivered and began to walk.  
  
An interminable time later--he could only hope that time passed more slowly than in the real world or he and Clark were doomed--he had passed through a golden prairie and a barren desert to find himself in a snow-filled forest clearing.  Bare, gnarled trees with wet black bark crouched all around him.  The sky he could glimpse through their branches was as flat as steel.   
  
Bruce's breath plumed in front of him as he stopped and took stock of the situation.  His feet were numb with cold, his muscles aching with exertion.  There was no sign of Clark.  They could wander here forever, never finding each other, their paths never crossing, he realized.  The image of the two of them forever lost in Fukumaden while their bodies died in the world above filled Bruce with sick trepidation and he almost sank to his knees on the slushy ground.   
  
Then he clenched his hands into fists and gritted his teeth, glaring up at the sky in defiance.  He'd been going about this all wrong.  He wasn't the master of the sword, so he couldn't control the larger world, but to some extent one's will shaped how things happened here.  
  
He might be lacking in humor, human warmth, and kindness, but no one would ever claim Batman was lacking in  _will._  
  
There was no need to search.  The search was a metaphor, an illusion.  It was all an illusion.  All he needed to do was shape it.  
  
Bruce closed his eyes to the bleak and barren trees, closed his mind to his exhaustion and chilled bones.  He focused on his goal.   
  
Then he opened his heart and  _called._  
  
****

* * *

**  
** He was washing the dust from his feet in a stream when he heard it.  A sensation above and beyond sound, that went through his body like a vast bass drum, resonating.  Calling.  He recognized it from before, the love and desire, the compassion and trust.  
  
_Bruce.  
_  
He broke into a stumbling run, heading unerringly toward its source.  There was no possible way to lose his bearings:  the sound was anchored in his own soul, a pull so intense and natural that to move toward it was to magnify joy with every step.  The landscape wavered and flickered around him--fields of wheat, deserts, blank cityscapes--but his surroundings didn't matter anymore.  
  
He knew where his heart was.  
  
From a distance he saw it, a grove of trees with a vast cloud above it, a cloud of the small winged mice he had seen earlier-- _bats_ , of  _course_  that's what they were, how could he have ever forgotten it?  He almost wept with happiness at knowing the word again, at having these little pieces of his soul back.  "Bruce," he whispered the name into the wind, "I see the bats.  I'm almost there."  
  
The bare, gnarled trees gave way before him as he floundered into the woods, too close to care about the branches catching at his robes, to close to care about anything at all.  He skidded into a grove and there he was.  
  
Bruce was standing in a white robe, his eyes closed, his hands outstretched.  His dark hair was moving slightly in a wind that wasn't tangible, dark blue light surrounding him like an aura.  Slowly he opened his eyes, the radiance around him dying out, the light in his sapphire eyes brighter and yet more beautiful.  
  
_"Clark,_ " he said.   
  
His name.  He had his name again.  
  
And then Bruce was in his arms and Clark was kissing him, laughing and weeping at the same time, and they were surrounded by snowflakes--no, they were cherry blossoms, the trees around them had burst into bloom.  He was kissing Bruce, and scarlet leaves tumbled around them, mingling with the snow and the blossoms, and summer sunlight was everywhere, all four seasons blending in a moment beyond time.  
  
Bruce was laughing too between kisses, a beautiful free laugh, and at some point Clark realized he'd certainly never heard Bruce laugh like that before.  He pulled back as the blossoms settled around them to look curiously at Bruce, who smiled with some chagrin.   
  
"I hate places like this," Bruce said ruefully, "It's so damn hard to lie in dreamscapes."  
  
Clark smiled and nuzzled Bruce's neck, enjoying the way Bruce leaned into it.  "So if I ask you if you love me, you'll say yes?"  
  
"If I ask if  _you_  love  _me,_  what will you say?"  
  
"I'd say yes, of course.  But that's different, I  _want_  to say it."  
  
There were petals in Bruce's hair, white and pink.  "Clark.  I love you," he said simply, and Clark kissed him again, and there was nothing else in the world.  
  
At least not until Clark pulled away and said, "Wait.  How did you get here?  You're inside Soultaker--did Kyodai Ken kill you too?" A flash of recognition, and he exclaimed, "But I met him too!  I saw him on the road!  He said he'd meet me at the castle later--Did that--what the hell happened?"  he asked in confused fury.  
  
Bruce looked uncomfortable.  "No, I...chose to come.  It was a calculated risk."  He plucked a tiny scarlet leaf from Clark's hair.  "You saw Kyodai?  I should have known the bastard wouldn't let us alone."  
  
"Don't change the subject, Bruce," Clark said ominously.  "How did you get in here?"  
  
Bruce sighed.  "There's only one way to enter the sword, which is to die by it.  J'onn is keeping my body stable," he added hastily at Clark's look of horror, "And if we get out of here quickly enough, the ritual precautions I took should make it possible for me survive."  
  
Clark stared at him, stricken.  "Bruce..." he said, then couldn't continue.  He reached out and rested a hand on Bruce's unscarred chest, swallowing hard.  "Then we'll be getting out of here as soon as possible," he said flatly.  
  
"My guess is it's through that castle Kyodai mentioned.  Given this is a magical realm, there'll probably be some stupid magical tests to pass.  I also suspect we'll probably have to go through Kyodai himself."  
  
Clark's smile was grim as they turned to leave the grove.  "How very unfortunate for him."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark and Bruce attempt to escape from the world inside Soultaker.

_Falling from the ridge_  
 _Of high Tsukuba,_  
 _The Minano River_  
 _At last gathers itself,_  
 _Like my love, into_  
 _A deep, still pool._  
 _\--Emperor Yozei_  
  
The landscape seemed to stabilize around them as they left the grove, resolving into a rocky path winding up a mountain. Bruce reached for Clark's hand. "Katana seems to have gained some control over the sword, but the environment could still change suddenly. I don't want us to get separated," he explained at Clark's quizzical look.  
  
"Ah," said Clark, "and here I thought it was just that you wanted to hold hands."  
  
Bruce's hand was surprisingly warm. "Well, there are fringe benefits," he said lightly. His face was open and loving, and Clark marveled that he could have ever doubted that Bruce's heart belonged to him. Here everything seemed to make sense, here the energy between them was unblocked and free, running like a current of light between their linked hands.  
  
The castle seemed to be drawing nearer. "I couldn't get close before," Clark said. "It kept moving away from me."  
  
"Ah, we're together now," Bruce said. "And nothing can stop us forever."  
  
Clark was still grinning foolishly when a figure stepped into the path. It reached to about Clark's shoulders, thin and green-skinned, with a beak obscuring most of its face. It had weedy green hair trimmed in a kind of tonsure, with a depression at the top of its head that was filled with water. "Hail, travelers," it said in a scratchy, hissing voice. "I am not to let you pass."  
  
Clark could help but make a scoffing noise. "You're going to stop us?"  
  
The creature's eyes lit from within with an uncanny golden light. "You are not as powerful as you think here," it said, and exposed a mouthful of needle-sharp teeth, lifting webbed and clawed hands.   
  
Clark dropped into a defensive posture, feeling a stab of uncertainty as he remembered his blood on the bladed grass. He wasn't invulnerable here, and had no idea how exactly to bend the world to his will...  
  
He felt Bruce's hand on his shoulder. "Wait," Bruce said, and stepped forward. "Hail, honored opponent," he said formally, and bowed deeply before the creature.  
  
The beaked monster bowed back--and the water in the depression at the top of his head ran out onto the ground. "Aiee!" the creature cried, sinking to its knees, "My power! You've tricked me!" It was still weeping as Bruce steered Clark by it.  
  
"Kappa," said Bruce as Clark looked back at the wailing monster, "Are extremely strong and dangerous, but have two weaknesses. All their power is lost if they lose the water on top of their heads. And they are unfailingly bound by the rules of etiquette."  
  
Clark couldn't help but laugh. "They also don't seem to be terribly bright."  
  
A wolfish grin. "All right, three weaknesses." Bruce took Clark's hand again, the tingle of power warm between them. "I don't expect our next opponent will be so easy."  
  
The castle came into view, growing closer step by step, until they could see the massive wooden doors, carved with dragons and phoenixes.  
  
In front of the door was a figure clad in black.  
  
Kyodai Ken stepped forward as they drew near. "Welcome," he said with a small bow. "Beyond these doors is the center of Fukumaden. The winner of this fight gains access to it." His smile was feral. "I shall kill you both, then enter the castle and take the power within. And then I shall have the pleasure of killing you both again and again, for all eternity. Ah, the torments I shall come up with. I think I shall feed the Kryptonian his own flesh and make you watch, rich man's son. And then I shall get inventive."  
  
Bruce made a growling noise in his throat. "Cut the speeches and fight."  
  
Kyodai flung his arms wide. "Do I hear fear in your voice? And well I should. For the rules of Fukumaden favor me. You shall have to kill me to get past me, and always you have been squeamish about the killing blow. Even here, where it does not matter, you will hold back. Whereas I will not."  
  
Bruce's grip tightened briefly in Clark's. "Clark," he said levelly. "When he attacks, you run for the door. Get out of here."  
  
The ninja's hands clenched. "He will not leave you!"  
  
Bruce raised his voice, his hand still tight on Clark's. "He knows if he escapes, I will consider this battle won." He dropped Clark's hand. " _Now!"_  
  
They sprang into action like mirror images of each other: Bruce jumping right to meet the ninja's attack, Clark sprinting left, heading for the door.  
  
Kyodai howled as Clark neared the door. "No!" He swiveled to intercept Clark--and turned his back on Bruce for a second.  
  
Bruce's bare feet hit the small of his back like a bludgeon, and he went down, rolling and struggling.  _"Don't ever turn your back on me,"_ snarled Bruce, delivering a roundhouse kick to the ninja's torso.   
  
Kyodai hissed and aimed a kick at Bruce's head. A blur of motion, a snapping sound, and the ninja hobbled on one leg. "That's for Clark," said Bruce. Kyodai chopped at him with his hands; there was another  _snap_  and the ninja went to his knees. "That's for Seio," Bruce added almost casually.  
  
Three shuriken drifted by his head; Bruce dodged effortlessly. This time his kick connected with the ninja's jaw and Kyodai crumpled in a heap. "And that's for me," Bruce concluded. "You'll note I don't need to kill you, just make sure you can't follow us." He looked down at Kyodai coldly. "You were never a match for me, Kyodai. The sword used you, it lied to you, and now you're trapped here forever. I couldn't think of a more fitting fate for a coward like you." Dusting his hands off, he walked by the prone ninja and up to Clark, standing by the unopened door. A spare shuriken still quivered in the wood next to Clark's head. "Nice dodge," he noted.  
  
"Thank you," Clark said dryly. "It would be a shame to have come all this way and be taken out by a single throwing star."  
  
Together they opened the massive double doors and entered the castle.

* * *

  
Bruce took his bearings as he and Clark stepped inside. The interior of the castle was cavernous--bright and airy, sunbeams slanting across polished boards. Behind them, the doors shut with a  _thud._ As they closed, a shaft of incandescent light lanced down from the flat gray sky, turning a circle on the floor into a pool of radiance. "I believe that's Katana giving us a door out," Bruce noted.  
  
As they stepped forward, a man in ornate robes moved out from behind a pillar. He bowed deeply, then straightened to reveal a narrow face with bright eyes. "Forgive my intrusion," said the newcomer, "But I feel it necessary to point out a few facts."  
  
"Who are you?" Bruce asked.  
  
"I?" The man gestured at his chest with hands hidden in voluminous sleeves. "I am Soultaker. Or Muramasa. It becomes so difficult to tell the difference after enough time."  
  
"You can't stop us," Clark said ominously.  
  
The man smiled self-deprecatingly. "I wouldn't dream of it. You have proven yourselves worthy of leaving this realm. Or, perhaps, of staying."  
  
Clark laughed. "This is the part where you offer us power beyond our wildest dreams."  
  
Soultaker tilted his head and wrinkled his nose. "Nothing so crass. But I do offer you the chance to stay and try to influence this world for good, ease the suffering of the souls trapped within. With your mighty wills combined, surely you could make this a realm of peace." He stepped forward with the graceful ease of a dancer. "In addition, although it may be a bit crude to mention, I must point out that the Dark Knight's body is dying, may already be beyond any hope of recovery. His soul may well return to its body only to die seconds later. That would be such a pity."  
  
Bruce felt Clark take a pained breath next to him, but the man was already continuing. "There is a third thing I can offer you." He gestured at Bruce. "Here his body has no scars; his soul likewise is whole and free. Here in this realm the two of you could perfect the bond between you, make it a thing of transcendent beauty. Here, and here alone, you would be free to love as deeply and unreservedly as your great hearts can--and be loved in return. Think of it." The man's eyes gleamed golden. "The perfect peace of knowing yourself loved completely, of never doubting."  
  
Bruce didn't dare to look at Clark, kept his eyes fixed on the figure before them. The price was too high for him, he knew that--but what if Clark felt otherwise? Could he deny Clark the chance to have the love he deserved, to have Bruce's heart whole and unflawed, unfettered by darkness and reserve? He deserved so much warmth, so much openness and affection.  
  
He felt the bond between them flare, felt the perfect unison between them, and almost laughed with joy as he  _knew_ how Clark would answer.  
  
"Muramasa," Clark said, his voice echoing that joyous laughter, "I can see your tail."   
  
Muramasa whirled to catch at the bushy red tail tipped with white protruding from beneath his robes, then swung back to yip angrily at the pair, his features stretching into those of the trickster-fox. Dropping to all fours, revealing the paws tucked into his sleeves, he fled the room and left them in front of the gate.  
  
Clark stepped forward, but Bruce caught him by the hand. "No time for drama, Bruce, we have to get you back," Clark said.  
  
"Clark." It seemed very important he say this. "If I die--"  
  
"--You're not going to die, damn it." Clark's voice was taut with agony.  
  
"--But if I do, promise me. Promise me you'll continue our work with the League. And--" He paused. "--and promise you'll take care of Dick."  
  
Clark drew him close and buried his face in Bruce's hair. "Like my own heart, love." He pulled Bruce into a long kiss; still locked together, they stepped into the gate, into light, into whatever might wait on the other side.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce and Clark return to the real world and deal with the aftermath of their experience, both physical and emotional.

_Not speaking of the way,  
Not thinking of what comes after,  
Not questioning name or fame,  
Here, loving love,  
You and I look at each other.  
\--Yosano Akiko  
_  
The room snapped into being around Clark, almost preternaturally sharp, each sound distinct amidst the chaos.  He heard Katana chanting something in a guttural voice, taut with strain, something about healing.  Soultaker was scattering light like a prism, dark and bright. Clark heard J'onn's voice raised in an alien drone.  He sat up, feeling the skin at his back tighten over a new scar, impeding his movement somewhat.  
  
The room was full--the entire JLA and Katana were there as the room crackled with power.  And on the floor in a white robe--Bruce.   
  
Bruce's body.  In a pool of blood.  Clark saw his chest--  
  
He surged forward in a rush, howling something, he didn't know what, inarticulate pain, only to find Amazonian arms locked around him, immobilizing him.  He had to get to Bruce, Bruce was dying, he couldn't be dying, and he almost threw Diana through a wall in his panic.  A band of green froze his arms more tightly, and he vaguely heard Hal's yell over the tumult and the frantic roaring in his ears:  "She's trying to heal him!  Don't interrupt her, damn it!"  
  
Soultaker seemed to writhe in Katana's grip, sullen light sparking around the room, as she commanded it in archaic Japanese to submit to her, to take back the wounds it had caused, remit the evil it had done.  She pressed the blade against Bruce's wound--without thinking, Clark strained against his bonds again, white panic clenching his heart--and the howl of the sword reached a crescendo, then abruptly dropped to a dull murmur.  
  
Katana pulled the blade away to reveal a glossy, fresh scar across Bruce's torso.  Healed.  
  
She backed off as the restraints fell away from Superman and he crashed to his knees beside Bruce.  His hands hovered over the other man whose eyes were closed, face far too pale.  "Bruce," he whispered, his voice cracking in the sudden silence of the room.  
  
Sapphire eyes opened, hazed with exhaustion.  Impossibly, there was a brief sliver of a smile.  "Told you...wouldn't die..." Bruce muttered.  
  
That wasn't exactly how Clark remembered it, but it didn't matter.  He almost reached to gather Bruce in his arms, to pull him close and hold his real and solid and wonderful body again--and then he abruptly remembered the room was full of people, staring at the two of them.  He backed away over blood-soaked white silk and sat on his knees nearby instead.  "Thank you," he said formally, hearing his voice tremble.  "For saving me.  I owe you my life."  
  
There was a long pause as Bruce pulled himself to a shaky crouch, then inched over to where Clark was sitting.  "I'll...take you up on that," Bruce said, raising his voice so everyone could hear him.  
  
And then he kissed Clark.  
  
It wasn't a very passionate kiss, as he fell over in the middle of it and Clark had to catch him, but it was certainly enough to get the point across.  Clark held his half-conscious lover and looked from face to face in the room, caught between blushing and grinning foolishly.  Hal and Barry exchanged surprised glances and Barry started blushing slightly, not meeting Clark's eyes.  J'onn looked pleased and Diana looked both entirely unsurprised and unimpressed.    
  
Clark decided to address the one person in the room who had hardly seemed to notice the dramatic moment.  "He'll...heal?"  he asked Katana.  
  
Katana had been staring down at the sword;  now she looked up with a sharp, triumphant smile.  "Both of you will.  I'm master of the sword now and it will obey my will."  
  
J'onn's voice came from behind him.  "He will heal, but not as quickly as you.  He's lost a great deal of blood and will be very weak for some time."  
  
Clark looked down at Bruce's pale, drawn face, then smoothed back his hair and kissed him lightly on the brow.  He felt a light puff of breath against his skin that might have been a sigh, a huff, or a laugh.  "If he's out of danger, would you mind leaving us alone?"  
  
Hal and Barry were out the door almost before he finished, looking slightly relieved.  Clark suspected it was more the strong emotion in the room making them uncomfortable--he hoped so, since obviously they were just going to have to get used to the idea of two of their founding members being in love with each other.  
  
He realized he had a rather loopy grin on his face again as Wonder Woman and Katana nodded politely and filed out.  J'onn clapped him briefly on the back and followed them, leaving Clark and Bruce alone.  
  
"Thought they'd...never leave," Bruce muttered into Clark's neck.  
  
Clark cradled Bruce easily in one arm, using the other to get the blood-soaked cloth out of sight.  Then he kissed Bruce's throat gently and lowered him onto the bedding, curling up next to him.  He drew a hand very lightly across the fresh, silvery scar, and Bruce murmured something wordless but vaguely content.  
  
"I never really considered staying there," Clark whispered into Bruce's ear.  "I love you scars and all."  He brushed a curl of hair back from behind the ear and kissed the exposed bit of skin.  "And I'll never forget what I saw of your heart there."  
  
Bruce laughed, thin as a whisper.  "Not even if I ask you to?  It was like being  _naked._ "  He stopped, took a careful breath.  "So vulnerable."  Another long pause.  "You'll...never have that here.  I just...can't.  Not in this world."  His voice was hoarse and too low to carry more than the inch to Clark's ears.  
  
"I don't love you only when you're vulnerable, Bruce.  I love all of you, always.  Even your armor is beautiful."    
  
Bruce didn't respond, and his breathing slowly evened out into the long slow breaths of sleep.  Clark held him all night, marveling.  They were both alive.  They had cheated death again.  The two of them together.  Together.  
  
Joy like moonlight.  
  
 ****

* * *

 **  
**Bruce was pale and his steps were careful, but he insisted on tottering out the door to go sightseeing the next day.  "I refuse to play the invalid to your tender ministrations, Clark," he noted acerbically.  
  
They walked slowly down to the river, a rushing mountain torrent over smoothed boulders, clear water over pale stone.  The path was shadowed by bright trees and lined with statues, one after the other, nearly-identical cross-legged men.    
  
As they approached the first statues, Bruce put his arm around Clark and leaned against him.  "Might have pushed myself a little far," he said wryly at Clark's look.  "I'll be fine if I can lean on you a little."  
  
Clark grinned as if he couldn't help it.  "You can lean on me."  
  
They made their way past statue after statue, covered with moss, their benignly smiling faces worn with time.  Each of them wore, rather incongruously, a little red bib and cap, carefully hand-crafted.  "Who are these guys, anyway?"  Clark asked, peering at the moss-obscured carvings.  
  
"They're Jizos.  Jizo is an incarnation of the Buddha who is the particular protector of the spirits of small children.  In some versions of Japanese mythology, the souls of children who die young are damned to eternally stand on the shores of the river that marks the land of the dead, building towers of stones that are always knocked down again."  He looked at Clark's expression of shock and added, "It's their punishment for disappointing their parents by dying before them.  A failure of filial piety."  His voice was dry.  "Anyway, Jizo is supposed to hide the souls of the children in his robes and get them across the river.  So grieving parents make clothes for him."  
  
Clark looked at the long row of serene-faced Buddhas.  After a moment, he said, "Oh."  He sketched a small, awkward bow to the row of statues.  Then he kept walking, Bruce at his side.  
  
They took it slowly, the tranquil statues on one side, the rushing river on the other, blue sky and bright leaves above them.  They didn't speak much, each of them enjoying the quiet and the other's presence.  
  
Clark listened to Bruce's heartbeat and breathing carefully and stopped when they got too quick, finding a point in the river to admire while letting the other man rest.  As they looked out over the turbulent water, Bruce cleared his throat, a small sound among the roar of the river.   
  
"Last night," he started a bit awkwardly.  "Last night, I said you could never have in this world what you had in Fukumaden.  That's true.  And maybe you'll come to hate me for...never living up to that moment, that image.  But I wanted to say--"  He broke off and stared at the water, arm still around Clark's waist.  Clark waited.  "--I know I'm not the most open and giving person around.  But you can have...everything I can give you in this world.  You already have that."  A small, grim smile.  "I know it's not much."  
  
Clark looked out at the river, feeling Bruce's weight resting against him, letting Clark support him.  Bruce's arm holding him close.    
  
"It's more than you think it is," Clark said softly, and turned to kiss him again.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark and Bruce get back to the Manor and contemplate how life may be changed for both of them from now on.

Bruce Wayne strode off the plane into Gotham Airport to meet Alfred and Dick, Clark at his side.  
  
Well, he tried to stride.  However, he was forced to assess his striding performance as "poor."  In fact, his gait was much closer to a limping amble than a stride.  
  
But at least the part about Clark being at his side was correct.  
  
As Dick and Alfred spotted them, Dick came up with his arms open.  Clark gently intercepted the hug and wrapped his arms around the boy;  Bruce heard him say softly, "Hold off on the hug, he's a bit sore still."  
  
Alfred was eyeing him in horror.  "Good heavens, Master Bruce, what have you done to yourself  _this_  time?"  
  
Bruce grinned wryly.  "I might have run slightly afoul of a sword."  He waved a self-deprecating hand over Alfred and Dick's horrified exclamations.  "I'm fine, I'm fine.  I just get winded easily, that's all."  He started to walk along the corridor and found that the flight had taken more out of him than he'd thought;  for a second the beige walls spun just a bit.    
  
A strong arm wrapped around his back, stabilizing him.  Bruce shot a glance at Dick and Alfred.  "Fortunately for me, Clark has decided to take on a part-time job as nursemaid and mother hen."  His tone was sarcastic, but he didn't pull away from Clark's arm either.    
  
He headed toward baggage claim leaning on Clark, pretending not to notice either Alfred's speculative look or Dick's delighted flash of a grin.  


* * *

  
Bruce hadn't invited Clark to dinner, had never even mentioned it as a possibility, and yet here Clark was, standing with their suitcases down in the hall of Wayne Manor, getting ready to spend the night.  Apparently it was to be assumed from now on that Clark would spend time here without an invitation.  
  
Clark stood in the hallway, dazed with something between joy and apprehension.  This couldn't possibly be so simple now, after all they'd been through.  Something would happen, Bruce would set limits and boundaries and pull away, Clark couldn't relax.  
  
Could he?  
  
He followed Bruce upstairs, past his old guest room, to the suite on the end.  Inside it was dark and yet oddly cozy.  A walnut four-poster bed draped with burgundy hangings was in the center of the room;  Clark shot a glance at it and went suddenly shy, looking down at the handle of his suitcase.  "Put your case on the chest there at the foot of the bed," Bruce said, then noticed Clark's downcast gaze.  "What's wrong?"  
  
"I've...never been in your bedroom."  
  
A pause, then a low chuckle.  Bruce pulled Clark's chin up and kissed him lightly.  "Well, get used to it.  When you're visiting, you'll be here."  
  
Clark patted the dark red coverlet gingerly.  "And will I be visiting often?" he asked, still looking down at the bed.  Unable to resist when finally faced with the real thing, he risked a peek with x-ray vision and was delighted to find that his suspicions of black silk sheets had been absolutely correct.  The image of Bruce naked on them flashed through his mind and his mouth went totally dry.  "I'm sorry?"  he was forced to ask as he realized he hadn't heard Bruce's answer at all.  
  
"I said  _mi casa _es _ su casa_, Clark.  It's Spanish, it means--"  
  
"--I know what it means," Clark said hastily.  
  
Bruce gaze was level.  "I'll give you a key so you can come and go as you like.  Of course there'll be a lot of times I'm not here, but you'll always be welcome."  He moved carefully closer to Clark, holding on to one of the bedposts for support.  "And if I weren't still practically unable to walk, I'd have you on this bed for the first time right now, before dinner."    
  
His voice was low and caressing, and Clark felt almost dizzy with lust.  "That'd be swell," he said giddily, without thinking, and Bruce laughed again.  
  
They stood there for a long time just looking at each other, not even touching, until Alfred's voice called them down to eat.  


* * *

  
Clark was surprised to find himself ushered into the kitchen rather than either the formal or informal dining room.  "We usually eat in here," Dick explained as he pulled out a chair for Clark.  "For everyday meals."  His grin was both knowing and delighted at the implication that Clark dining with them would be a routine occurrence.    
  
The kitchen was spacious, built for a fully-occupied Manor, yet somehow it managed to be intimate as well.  The white-painted wood had china-blue accents;  in one corner stood a small white table with a mosaic of glass chips laid into it, blue and red and green.  Bruce set the table while Alfred finished chopping something at the island.  "Nothing fancy, sirs," said the butler as he turned to lay a platter on the table.  "Just some sandwiches to take the edge off."  
  
The sandwiches turned out to be layered with mozzarella, tomatoes, and prosciutto, and Dick had finished one almost before Clark had finished his first bite.  Alfred raised a quizzical eyebrow at Clark.  "Master Bruce informs me you'll be dining here fairly regularly in the future.  Do you have any allergies or dislikes I ought to know about?"  
  
"He doesn't eat abalone, or horse," Bruce said around a mouthful of sandwich, and winked at Clark.  
  
Alfred's face reflected horror.  "Horse?  I should hope not, sir," and Dick laughed.  
  
"I like just about anything," Clark said, feeling oddly shy.  
  
Dick wanted to hear the whole story of what happened in Japan;  Bruce and Clark took turns telling him between sandwiches, with Alfred listening intently as he washed the dishes.  Dick gasped when Clark got stabbed, frowned when Bruce was rather vague about how he got into the sword in turn, and whooped when Bruce defeated Kyodai.  The kitchen was warm, the food delicious, and sometime in the middle of the story Clark realized he didn't feel like a guest anymore.  The manor didn't feel like a place he was visiting.  
  
It felt--just a little--like home.  
  
Clark felt a tiny stab of alarm at that.  He shouldn't start making assumptions.  Bruce might not even mean for this to be permanent, he might--  
  
Clark suddenly remembered how it had felt to be sheltered and held within the shadows of Bruce's love as he crossed the river in Fukumaden, how the dark flame of Bruce's passion had cherished and protected him.    
  
Clark smiled to himself and took a bite of one of the meringues Alfred had put on the table, listening to Dick complain about his schoolwork.  The spirit of Muramasa had told him that only in Fukumaden could Clark know himself to be loved completely.  
  
As Bruce slipped a hand into his, Clark began to allow himself to think that wasn't true.  


* * *

  
Bruce was lying in bed, alone.  Down the hall he could faintly hear Clark's voice coming from Dick's bedroom--the boy had insisted on hearing a Kryptonian fairy tale before going to bed.   Bruce would have been there himself, but Alfred, Dick, and Clark had all ganged up on him and decided--completely arbitrarily--that he needed to be in bed.  All right, he had gotten a bit wobbly on the stairs, but that was no reason to have everyone fussing over him.  He had finally given up and let Clark tuck him into bed just to shut them all up.  Alfred was bad enough;  now Dick and Clark were in his life too, making demands, crowding his personal space.  Bruce could tell he was going to deeply regret all of this.  
  
Given that, he wasn't sure how to classify the emotion he felt at hearing the voices down the hall, or at the sound of Clark's footsteps coming toward his bedroom.  It probably should have been annoyance.  
  
It didn't seem to be.  
  
Clark appeared in the doorway in his navy pajamas, smiling at Bruce.  "I told him there were more than three thousand stories about Nightwing and Flamebird in my Kryptonian library.  Not only was he not put off, I thought he was going to burst with glee."  His eyebrows rose as he noticed the pile of cloth by the side of the bed and one bare shoulder sticking out of the covers.  "I'm pretty sure you were wearing pajamas when I got you in there."  
  
Bruce snorted.  "More comfortable without them.  But colder.  Are you going to stand there all night or get in here and warm me up?"  
  
Clark's pajamas joined the pile on the floor;  Clark joined Bruce in bed.  Bruce stretched up against him luxuriously, savoring warm skin against scars.  "Don't expect too much of a man who can't even make it up the stairs without passing out," he whispered against Clark's mouth.  
  
Clark just chuckled, stroking a gentle hand down his side.  "There'll be plenty of time for that later.  Right?"  
  
"Mm, yes.  Plenty of time," Bruce said comfortably, warming himself in the light of Clark's smile.  
  
"I need to go to work at the Planet tomorrow morning and do some patrolling in Metropolis tomorrow night," Clark said softly.  
  
"Will you have time to stop here for dinner between?"  
  
A slight hesitation.  "Would you like that?"  
  
Bruce huffed in exasperation.  "I won't be able to go on patrol for at least a few more days, I'll be going stir crazy.  I'm glad you won't be hovering around micromanaging me all day long, but if you can spare time for dinner I'd like to see you."  
  
Clark shifted against him, their legs and feet tangling together.  "Barring an emergency, then, I'll be here.  Promise me you won't overwork yourself, though--you're up for monitor duty in a week and I don't want to have to cover for you."  
  
Bruce grunted.  "I should be healthy enough in a week to watch a computer screen."  He meant to say more, but sleep rolled over him at abruptly and he disappeared into it.  
  
He awoke at some point to find the covers off, moonlight and starlight washing over the both of them.  Clark's hands were brushing his body like a filigree of light, warm and comforting, and Clark was crooning something very softly in a language that was all sibilants and drawn-out vowels.  Kryptonian.  He thought muzzily to himself that he would have to start learning that.  
  
He fell asleep again hearing alien music, feeling love traced on his body like mandalas of protection.  
  
When he woke again the sun still wasn't up, but the light in the room was moving toward gray, night mingling with day, shadows lightening toward the dawn.    
  
He studied Clark's face in the dim half-light, the lines of it, the curve of his mouth.  Clark's love was so brilliant, so radiant, it would probably burn out in time as he had to deal with Bruce's reserve, his oddities.  Bruce heard himself sigh very quietly:  the memory of that love, like a flame in his hand, could almost banish doubts entirely if he let it.  But that probably was wishful thinking.  
  
The diffuse light was like pearl, tinted with rose, filling the room with the potential for brightness.     
  
Inside Soultaker, one's will could shape the world.  But here, in the real world, it was impossible for even the strongest wills to shape reality.  
  
Even two of the strongest wills.  
  
The sun was almost above the horizon.  Clark's eyelashes fluttered very slightly.  
  
He loved Clark.  He knew that.  And Clark loved him.  But was that enough to make it work?  Bruce couldn't help but wonder if he was too set in his ways;  maybe it was too late for him to learn to share his life with a partner.  Maybe it was too late years ago.  There was no way to be sure, no sign to be had.  
  
The first rays of the sun touched Clark's face, and he opened his eyes and smiled.  
  
Bruce smiled back at him.  
  
_Nothing_  
 _in the world_  
 _is usual today._  
 _This is_  
 _the first morning._  
 _\-- Izumi Shikibu_


End file.
